Coming home after four months abroad reveals America’s flaws, strengths
Reentering the United States doesn’t make the United States look good. The embarrassment begins in the airport.
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Reentering the United States doesn’t make the United States look good. The embarrassment begins in the airport.
Italian men have oily, black, curly hair. They wear supple leather loafers and stylish leather motorcycle jackets. They nonchalantly sling satchels over the jaunty lapels of their designer blazers. Their clothes all fit like a glove, and their leather gloves fit even better than their clothes. They whiz around the streets on agile little Vespas, the only vehicle that looks as lithe and clever as they do. Their scarves trail in the wind behind them as they zip towards a vineyard or cafe. This description sounds stereotypical, but after three months in Italy, I am delighted to report that it’s absolutely true. Italians look every bit as Italian as I pictured them before I arrived.
“Heard Val d’Orcia is beautiful in the fall. Any recommendations for a day trip from Florence?” posted Susan from Grand Rapids, Mich.
Let me tell you about a man I know. His name is Mr. Pizza.
My 10-day fall break backpacking trip began in the Escher museum, in Den Haag, the Netherlands. Den Haag is best described as a grown-up version of Amsterdam, a beautiful metropolis where everyone bikes everywhere and everything closes at 10 p.m.
Around me, a hundred or so Italians milled about. The small piazza on the outskirts of this small Tuscan town was half-full. Medieval facades peered down stoically. An Italian four-piece band performed on a makeshift stage, cycling through gentle Italian pop music. The scene was lively but provincial, the expanse of gray hills in the background a constant reminder that the festivities were blissfully removed from the rest of the world. Then the music shifted — a few popping guitar chords cut through the parochial ambience. I thought I recognized the tune, and then the singer chimed in:
Tourists enjoy themselves most in the morning. They take nice, well-composed pictures, and their smiles are authentic. They make earnest, thoughtful comments to each other about the sights they’re seeing. Not yet laden with the day’s to-be-regretted-later souvenir purchases, still enthused by the potential of new discoveries and awash in the glow of a new city, tourists in the morning have a spring in their step and a gleam in their eyes.
In an iconic scene from Martin Scorsese’s classic 1990 film “Goodfellas,” deposed and imprisoned mobster Paulie Cicero (Paul Sorvino) has a selection of Italian delicacies delivered to his prison cell. The gangster lovingly slices garlic with a razor blade before his fellow mobsters join him around the table for wine, cheese and prosciutto.
The ancient crest of the town of Siena, Italy, is enthralling for its simplicity — a simple outline of a shield, the top half white, the bottom half black.
How long do I have to be “ex patria” before I can call myself an expat? Is it a function of time, or is it just a matter of how many cigarettes I smoke on café patios? Do I have to write a moody novel? Will a short story work?
Josh Ritter has been at it for nearly two decades, but the central pillars of his style remain unchanged. Ritter’s exquisite lyricism has always been at the core of his appeal and now, 40 years old and a little gray at the edges, Ritter is an even more accomplished raconteur than he was in his teenage years. The Idahoan singer-songwriter’s tunes are often Bob Dylan-esque in their narrative complexity, built around delicate stories and subtle characters. Ritter is such an enthusiastic storyteller that in 2011 he wrote a novel — the tale of a West Virginian farm boy turned into a World War I soldier who occasionally hears supernatural voices. Stephen King called it “a lot of fun.”
The school year has come and gone, and yet I still find myself in Charlottesville. The muggy ennui of summer in a deserted college town has set in. All my friends are off having marvelous adventures, prancing across the globe on fellowships and scholarships and cruise ships, meeting new people and bathing in waterfalls, drinking wine and pretending they like art. I’m jealous — I recently posted an Instagram from 1515 and deliriously tagged the location as Ibiza. Though the post garnered a few confused comments, the fact remains the only pill I took this week was a Claritin, because Central Virginia is caked in pollen right now.
Josh Brener plays the unassuming yet hilarious Nelson “Big Head” Bighetti on HBO’s hit comedy "Silicon Valley." Yesterday, The Cavalier Daily sat down with Brener via videoconference and picked the actor’s brain about everything from improvisation to "The Big Bang Theory" to Big Head’s famous cannonballs from Season 3.
Twelve albums into his career, Brad Paisley finds himself in limbo. In many ways, Paisley is a world apart from the rest of country music’s contemporary superstars. At the same time, he shares a troubling amount of DNA with the fellow titans of an industry headed in the wrong direction.
The best scene in “T2 Trainspotting” comes toward the middle, as a frightened Mark Renton (Ewan McGregor) and a seething Franco Begbie (Robert Carlyle) sit in adjacent toilet stalls, each slowly realizing they are just a few feet away from an acquaintance who they haven’t seen in 20 years. The confrontation taking place in a filthy toilet is one of many nods to “T2”’s predecessor, Danny Boyle’s 1996 cult classic “Trainspotting.”
“When your daddy walked through the house he was just so big,” Rose Maxson (Viola Davis) tells her son toward the end of “Fences.” “He filled it up.”
The first half of the premiere season of HBO’s “The Young Pope” was a bit of a hot mess. It was hot because Jude Law was heavily involved, but it was a mess for almost every other reason.
With elections season underway, the Arts and Entertainment section asked Student Council presidential candidates and Class Council presidential candidates questions regarding their tastes in movies and first dates, among other topics.
A little more than halfway through its first season, it’s clear HBO’s “The Young Pope” is a striking visual masterpiece. It’s also a terrible television show.
“If you ain’t here to party, take your ass back home,” Bruno Mars sings on “Chunky,” the second track of this week’s newly released “24K Magic.” From there, Mars launches into a nine track, swagger-soaked romp through funk, R&B and pop styles.